


Devils don't fly

by Moonlessnite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Demon Dean Winchester, Demon rapes an angel, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Graphic Description, Graphic Rape, M/M, Major Character kills another Character., Major character death - Freeform, Rape, Seriously if any of these bother you you need to turn back now, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, This is a seriously rough ride, Violence, graphic smut, this will fuck you up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-01 11:16:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13293696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlessnite/pseuds/Moonlessnite
Summary: Coda for the end of 10.3What would have happened if Dean hadn’t missed with that hammer strike to Sams head?If Dean was just human enough that his emotions, or at least his desire for Cas, is something he can suddenly feel?And when he’s still just demon enough to take what he wants by force?





	1. Dragged ya down below.....

**Author's Note:**

> DO NOT CONTINUE ON TO THIS FIC WITHOUT READING THIS. SERIOUSLY!
> 
> PLEASE DO NOT IGNORE THE TAGS. 
> 
> I don't know where my mind came up with something this dark and twisted. I can confidently say this is the darkest, most horrible thing I have ever written. 
> 
> It was the equivalent of metaphorically slitting my wrist and bleeding on to my laptop while I ripped on my own heart out and stuck it it to the wall with an angel blade. 
> 
> Why would you write something this twisted, you ask?
> 
> That's a great question. I'm not sure I have an answer, even a bad one. All I know is I was sitting at work and read a prompt in FB group. Other than the content of rape and Dean and Castiel, the other prompt was nothing like what awaits you. 
> 
> The story was like a compulsion. I have two fics as WIPs and I dropped one in mid-sentence to start this one. 
> 
> For the last two days I've written like a woman possessed. I had dark, blood drenched dreams between day one and two. As I worked on this today I could only walk away for a short time before tension drove me back to my keyboard. 
> 
> Again, if any of the above tags bother you, I beg you to turn back now. 
> 
> For those still with me, welcome to the dark abyss that resides in my mind.
> 
> Edit : Epilogue added from Deans POV

Cas utters a soft groan as he steps out of the drivers side of his ’78 Lincoln Continental. Unfortunately, it’s possible for him to have aches and pains now. A definite drawback to having a Grace that fits like a shoe two sizes too small. As he closes the door he takes a minute to lean against the car Dean had referred to a few times as the “Pimpmobile.” Sam had called it crappy. Crowley had just rolled his eyes with that sardonic smirk. Even Hannah had looked skeptical at first.

The angel didn’t care. He liked it.

So many problems weigh on his mind but he takes a moment to close his eyes and tilt his face to the sun, reveling in the warmth of the late day rays. He wishes, oh he wishes, he could just stay here and allow the waning heat to warm his body and soothe his disquieting thoughts. It’s only a few breaths of time but he opens his eyes as a wave of guilt runs through him.

Sam and Dean need him.

His steps are heavy and he can’t disguise the slight stooping of his shoulders as he moves towards the main door to the Men of Letters bunker. The power up, courtesy of the King of Hell of all unlikely rescuers, had helped tremendously. Before the stolen Grace he wasn’t even sure he was going to make it back to the bunker. The power of the dead angel sustained, and slightly burned, whenever he needed to use it. He felt mostly normal for the moment, but he knew it wouldn’t last. Just like the one before it didn’t. Cas had no idea what he was going to do yet. Death looms over him with every breath.

One problem at a time though.

As the heavy door opens with a groaning squeal, Cas’ heartbeat picks up inside his chest. After months of chasing Dean all over creation and back, Sam had finally captured him. Crowley had played no small role in the younger hunter getting his brother back. Or at least, the creature his brother had become. That was the problem. It wasn’t just Deans body they were chasing. The hunter himself had become a demon. 

This wasn’t normal possession and the cure they used on Crowley wasn’t working the same way. Dean had told him about it after getting the story from Sam a few years ago. The King of Hell had become softer, more vulnerable with each injection. More human. Till the point he had been baring his throat willingly. Dean was acting sluggish but was no less the monster. He'd told his brother the blood was burning like acid in his veins, but who knew if that was the truth. Cas knew from the distressed tone to Sams calls that the likelihood of having the kill the monster the man had become was starting to seem like a real possibility. If the cure didn't do him in first. 

His footsteps echo flatly as he steps down the stairs, looking around for any sign of life in the echoing main room. As much as he wants to see Dean again, he can acknowledge he’s afraid. To see unending blackness where there was once a such a beautiful green would wound him in ways he might never recover from. He may have lost the man he loves forever.

Cas had come to terms with the fact that he was in love with Dean Winchester years ago. He had also come to terms with the fact those feelings were never going to be reciprocated. Dean saw him as a friend, as another brother. Nothing more. Even though he ached for more with the older hunter, what he had was beyond anything Cas had ever expected or felt he deserved. He was eternally grateful for what he had found. Sam and Dean were the most remarkable men he had ever met. The fact that they loved him as family was what kept him from giving up. Kept him going when it would be so easy to let everything just…..stop. Sometimes he did want to die, if only because of all his mistakes.

He won’t stop fighting though. Cas won't hurt the only family he has left. Especially since that small family could soon be down by one.

As he steps off the last step and into the main entryway he hears a low grunt followed by a soft thud from deeper in the bunker. Cas’ pupils dilate and adrenaline runs through him as he shifts his wrist and allows his angel blade to fall into his waiting hand. Something was wrong, he could feel it even without tapping into the foreign Grace sizzling in his veins. He clamps his mouth shut tight on the urge to call out for Sam. He needs to assess the situation and a silent hunter was a much more dangerous hunter.

He moves quickly but carefully deeper into the bowels of the building. Dean should be tied up in the dungeon and hopefully Sam would be with him, working on the steps of the cure. Cas was to come down and access the situation and help the younger hunter prepare for the next steps, no matter what those steps were. That sound though was suspicious and out of place. With a demon in residence, it was best to be cautious.

As he slides blade first around a corner, his eyes see a crumpled form lying beside the wall. He glances behind him, checking his back, before moving two more steps forward. His eyes narrow in an attempt to make out what he’s seeing. When the picture finally comes together in a way he understands, he lets out a choking cry and rushes forward, his caution forgotten.

Laying lifeless on the floor is the tall body of Sam Winchester. He’s sprawled on his back with his head tilted to the right, exposing the horrible wound in his left temple to the world. A line of blood has run from the gaping wound and down the side of his face, pooling in his long brown hair. His right arm is still clad in the sling he hadn’t been without since the hunt gone wrong where Cas had screwed up. Laying beside the growing pool of gore is a hammer, stained with red and a few hairs from its victim.

Cas’ hands shake as he kneels down and drops the angel blade next to the prone form. He reaches out with trembling fingers to check for a pulse, a sign of life part of him already knows he won’t find. A portion of Sams brain is exposed, and although the blood is still dripping, his heart is no longer pumping it. The angel feels like he’s about to be sick as he lays gentle fingers against the too silent pulse point in the hunters neck. He becomes aware of it slowly but he’s whispering, “No. No no no Sam. Please, no. Father no. No” under his breath. The body, for that’s what it is now, no longer a person, is warm beneath his touch. This had just happened.

The angel knows he’s not thinking clearly. There’s a fine, cold trembling that started in his gut and is spreading throughout his entire body. He’s not truly human but he’s not entirely angel either. Cas knows these symptoms. He’s going into shock. The man who took him in, who had saved his life, fought beside him, taught him about humanity and how to survive among them…..was gone. Just like that. Such a bright soul snuffed out like a candle by a cold, cruel wind. The hazel eyes would never open again. The lips would never smile or laugh again. All of the angels had fallen and there was no one powerful enough to bring the hunter back.

Cas had seen so much death in his existence, gone through it himself so many times, that he didn’t expect it to hit him like this. When he pulls his fingers back, the tips are stained with his brothers blood. No matter if Cas was human or angel, Sam is his brother. Was and would always be.  _And Dean?,_ some part of his mind asks. The thought seems disjointed at first before it shocks him with its clarity. A feeling like cold water rushes from the top of his head all the way to his feet and kick starts his brain. He starts to move, to grab his weapon, when a foot clad in a black boot comes around the corner and crashes brutally into his face.

Cas goes flying, the angel blade slipping from his open fingers as he slams onto his back and his head bounces off the concrete floor. He tastes blood as he tries to scramble backwards, the blow to his head seeming to short circuit his ability to get to his feet. When he raises wide eyes, he sees Dean advancing on him, the demon blade clasped in his right fist. The hunter-turned-monster comes forward quickly and bends down, wrapping his left fist in Cas’ shirt collar and yanking him to his feet like his weight is nothing. For the second time in a too short period, the angels head connects violently with a hard surface as he’s slammed into the wall.

Frantic thoughts scream at him to fight, but before the command can make it to his body, the demon blade is pressed against his throat. He feels the serrated edge make shallow cuts as he swallows though his panting breaths. The man in front of him is so familiar it sends a pang of longing through him. Deans short, dark hair is slightly tousled and he’s sporting a bit more than the usual amount of scruff on his face, something that typically happens when he’s been busy to shave. There’s nothing unusual about his clothes or the way his lips always look more pink set against his dark facial hair. The green eyes that Cas fell in love with are still are bright and ringed by lengthy, dark lashes, while the body holding him to the wall is strong and deceptively well-muscled. To Cas, the hunter always smells like whiskey, leather, and car oil, with a hint of sweetness like honey. Everything that's just Dean. 

Comfort. 

Home. 

Except this isn’t Dean. Or not his Dean at least. 

The soul, that had still been bright even after years of torturing in hell and so much pain, is muted and dark. The bluish-white light can barely be sensed and it’s streaked through with black and red slashes like angry cuts. The scent that never fails to calm and yet subtly arouse him is almost buried beneath the stench of fire and brimstone. As the angel watches in abject horror, the luminous jade eyes fade away beneath a blanket of darkness like the blackest corner of hell. The sensuous lips in front of him twist into a cruel smile. The words that come from the demon are slightly rougher than Deans normal voice, lower, and resonate with a tone that promises pain and destruction. “Hey Cas.”

The angel is struck temporarily speechless. The smile on the other mans face widens slightly to show a flash of white teeth. "You look good. How you been buddy?" The normally affectionate nickname is laced with mocking and derision that sends a painful jolt through the angels gut. "Dean, what....." Cas' mind is stumbling and tripping, trying to catch up. He tries again. "Dean, what happened? What have you done?" The words feel thick coming off his tongue, choked with growing horror and fear. 

Deans raises his brows over the endless darkness shining out of his eyes. He hums a questioning note as he frowns, his head cocking to the side in a quizzical expression. For a moment, the demon looks genuinely confused. The expression doesn't last for more than a few seconds before the cold smile comes oozing back across his features. The man glances back casually over his shoulder to the body of his brother cooling on the floor, before looking back at Cas. "Just taking out the trash Angel."

Cas lets out a shuddering breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding as Dean moves closer, pressing their chests together. It’s like his worst nightmares are coming to life and he can’t make sense of any of it. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be. Dean and killed Sam. “Dean, you killed Sam. Your Sammy. Your brother.” The words seem senseless to Cas, ridiculous that he’s even saying them aloud. This isn’t Dean, who sold his soul for his little brother, calling the dead body of his only living blood relative trash. The body he put there with the help of a hammer to side the of Sams skull.

Somehow, Sam had fucked up. Dean had gotten loose, and it had cost the younger hunter his life. Clarity rushes through Cas as he feels warm trickles of blood sliding down his throat. He punches the pain in his heart back down as he realizes he’s going to be the next dead body on the floor if he doesn’t do something, and fast. The hunters expression is almost jovial as his eyes drop, lingering on the angels lips before trailing down to the blood now staining his white dress shirt. His nose twitches once and his lips part slightly, his breath coming faster. “Yea buddy, little Sammy is dead. I got tired of him interfering.” The tip of a pink tongue darts out and wets the demons lips.

Cas twitches his shoulders which causes Dean to press even harder with the arm gripping the blade at his throat. Even with a new Grace inside him, he’s beginning to fear he’s no match for the monster looking out at him from his beloveds’ face. The other man meets the angels eyes again. In a blink, the horrible black is gone and the eyes Cas could lost in are once again watching him. Despite the circumstances, something in Cas’ chest eases just slightly. “How did you get free?” he asks, genuinely wanting to know but also hoping to distract the demon and give himself a chance to fight back.

Dean raises the hand not holding the knife and grips Cas’ shoulder, fingers digging in brutally as the angel fights back a pained yelp. “Well, see, here’s the thing Angel. As my meddling little brother pumped more blood into me, I became less demon. The more human I became, the less the cuffs worked.” The hand squeezing Cas’ shoulder eases slightly but still maintains a firm, punishing grip. “And the devils trap? I walked right over it.”

Hope surges through Cas. If Dean was becoming more human he had a chance to try to bring him back. Before he can speak, Deans nose twitches again as he leans forward. The demon seems to be….scenting him. The green eyes flutter shut as the other mans deep voice growls, “You’re afraid Castiel. I can smell it.” The use of his full name jolts the angel. Dean never uses his full name. The rough hand gripping his shoulder slides up the side of his neck, scraping along his jaw to tangle in the hair at the back of his neck. His head is suddenly pulled to the side and Deans mouth is a mere inch over his exposed throat above the shimmering blade. “You smell good enough to eat Angel.” The blade cuts into his flesh a little deeper, causing his blood to run more freely.

Right as Cas decides he has to make a move, now, Dean pushes his lower body up against him. Shock shoots through the angel as he feels the length and breadth of a strong erection grinding into his stomach. The Grace he was gathering for a strike fizzles and dies as a rush of blinding fear, mixed horribly with sudden arousal, shudders through his body. The knife at his throat shifts and the point digs into the hollow underneath his chin. One strong push will put it through his brain. He squeezes his eyes shut and braces for the killing blow.

But that’s not what happens.

He suddenly feels a rough tongue lick along the edge of the wound on his throat. The heat trails up along the side of his neck and teeth dig deeply into the pulse point where his shoulder meets his neck. Cas hears himself cry out, in pain or pleasure, he’s not sure which. Right on the heels of his voice is the growling laugh from the demon currently sucking and biting beneath the open collar of his shirt. Cas is unexpectedly drowning in a horrifying mix of sensation. The knife under his chin is tucked deep enough that just the barest hint of the tip has sliced open the vulnerable skin beneath his jaw. More blood is trailing down, mixing with the other blood and saliva now glistening on his throat. Pain is shooting through his shoulder blades as Dean seems eat at his collarbone, the pressure of his bites just barely on the side of not breaking his skin. The tongue following in the wake of pain, soothing the agony, has his own cock filling with blood. Nails are digging into his scalp at the base of his skull sending painfully sharp waves through him.

Cas had dreamed of this in a million different ways. The feel of Deans mouth on his body and the rush of heat as they collide together. The scent of arousal thick on the air as they join each other in mutual desire. Dean is a passionate man, sometimes violent, and Cas had expected that hunger to color their first time together. But the hunter was also loving and capable of great compassion. There would be two sides to their lovemaking and the angel would relish in all of it as they brought each other to completion.

This was a twisted nightmare version of his fantasies, with the cloying scent of blood staining the air and the monster holding him prone making demonic growls of hunger as his erection kept brushing against the angels. As much as he loved and wanted Dean, this wasn’t truly him. The cock in his pants was painfully hard from the stimulation of the demons undulating hips but he was overtaken by waves of nausea and shame as the beast against him took what it wanted in hunger, not love.

A stunningly hard bite rips into the flesh of his throat and tears a scream from the angel. “Dean! Stop!” With a suddenness that surprises him, the teeth in his flesh withdraw and the demon pulls his head back. Cas opens his eyes and whimpers at the look on the face that gazes back at him. The eyes, while not black again, were dark in a terrifying combination of desire and hate, a look of bloodlust. The full lips he had dreamed of kissing for years were stained bright crimson with the angels blood. He can feel the other mans erection throbbing against him, even through several layers of clothing. “Please Dean,” Cas pleads in a broken whisper. “Stop. Not like this.”

A sadistic laugh that holds the echo of rumbling hellfire barks out of Deans throat. The hand that was digging into his neck slips forward and caresses his cheek and jaw with startling gentleness, thumb dragging over his lips, further confusing and terrifying Cas. He trembles under the demons touch. “Oh Angel, I’ve been wanting to do this for forever, well before I became a demon. You’re certainly not going to stop me now.” Cas can feel his eyes go wide even as the hand that was caressing him locks like a vise around his jaw, holding his head still. The demons voice is like the hiss of a snake. “Give us a kiss.”

Cas tries to pull away, crying out internally at the words he can’t believe he just heard. He doesn’t know what’s true, what’s not, as his reality flips upside down. He makes a token attempt at fighting the grip but his will isn’t in it. His heart is laying shattered at the feet of the man-he-loved-turned-monster who just tore his world apart with a simple declaration. Dean leans forward and presses their lips together with gentle skill. The combination of the pain in his jaw and the soft touch of the kiss causes tears to spring to his eyes.

As despair wells up and threatens to drown him, Cas desperately decides to go for an all-out strike with everything he has. He’d rather be dead and has nothing to lose at this point. He’s already lost everything. He calls the foreign Grace up from deep inside, his blue eyes lighting from within and casting shadows of the man in front of him on the wall. Dean lets out a snarl and screams as his eyes flash black, “Oh, no you don’t, sweetheart.” The angel feels a wave of demonic power blast out of the man in front of him and cause fiery agony to scream through his nerve endings. He tries to fight the pain and concentrate his power for a strike. The hand on his jaw pulls back and the last thing the angel sees is Deans fist coming for his face.

Agony streaks through him and his world goes mercifully black.


	2. .....down to the Devils show.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The true pain is still coming for the angel.

> Cas becomes aware of his body slowly. The first thing he realizes is pain and he groans, causing the ache in his head to double at the soft sound. The second thing he realizes is that he can’t seem to move. That causes his eyes to fly open in panic.  _Where am I?_  He struggles to think, to remember, through the agony and hurt making him gasp. He feels like he’s been beaten.  He tries to move his arms and hears a soft clanging. Eyes rolling upward, he finds handcuffs with Enochian symbols clasping each of his wrists. A huge nail is driven into the plaster of the wall and through the middle of one of the links, holding the restraints in place. Cas glances around as fear begins to swell up in his throat.
> 
> He’s in a room swathed in shadows, the only light coming from a dim yellow lamp on the table beside where he lays. Whatever is beneath him is soft and the walls surrounding him are light colored. He cranes his head up and looks down toward his spread legs and finds his feet bound just like his hands. Trying to ignore each twisting ache, he sees a closed door beyond his body. His prone form moves with a jolt as he realizes he’s in Deans room in the bunker. With brutal swiftness, his memory returns and floods his mind with things he’d rather have forgotten.
> 
> Sam. 
> 
> Dead. 
> 
> Killed by Dean. 
> 
> Dean, on the loose and brutalizing him as he confessed his feelings. 
> 
> The angels head falls back to the pillow as he closes his eyes, hot tears of loss leaking out from under his eyelids and staining his cheeks. The one thing he'd dreamed of hearing from the hunter he'd finally received in circumstances that exceeded his worst nightmares. He doesn’t get even the smallest reprieve as a voice from the far corner of the room snarls, “Finally. I thought you were never going to wake up. I was getting bored.”
> 
> Cas jerks his head to the left and sees a figure rise from a chair in the darkest corner of the room. Dean steps into the dim pool of light and comes towards him with a chilling smile on his face, his eyes back to normal. His hands are empty but Cas’ blood is still staining his fingers and splattered across his lips, chin, and neck.  The demon stops beside the bed and lowers his hand to run the backs of his fingers gently along the angels cheek, wiping away the wetness on his face. Cas jerks his face away.
> 
> Dean chuckles as he places one knee on the bed, swinging his other leg over Cas and straddling his waist. They’re both fully clothed but the angel can clearly see the erection still outlined in the pants of the demon adjusting himself over his helpless body. His pulse picks up speed and he feels himself tremble as panic threatens to drown him. He locks his blue eyes on the bulge between the legs of the man atop him. The dark green eyes follow his gaze and this time Deans laugh is almost beautiful. Cas' heart gives a painful thud. The hunter gazes down at him as lowers his right hand and uses it to lazily fondle himself through his clothes. “Don’t worry Angel. We’re gonna get to that. Need to get you undressed first.”
> 
> Cas summons what strength he and spits in the monsters face.
> 
> Dean retaliates immediately with a blow that has the angels ears ringing and feels like it might have dislocated his jaw. Cas’ mind hovers on the edge of unconsciousness after the strike as Deans voice snarls., “Now, now. Don’t make me gag you. I have plans for that pretty mouth of yours.” Through the pain in his head, Cas feels a jerking at his chest and hears the ripping of cloth as the man above him rips his shirt open, baring his chest to the chill in the room. The angels nipples harden immediately and rough hands begin to roam over the muscles of his chest and stomach. Calloused fingertips caress the line of his hips leading down to his groin still covered by his trousers. “Damn baby,” comes the low snarl from the demon atop him, “you are sexy.”
> 
> As Cas’ vision clears, he sees Dean looking at him with a hungry expression alighting his features. For a second, he can imagine it’s his Dean, his love, that’s looking at him with such desire. Except his drying blood is splattered on the man above him and he’s bound in Enochian handcuffs that snuff his Grace and make him human vulnerable. 
> 
> “Just kill me.” Cas whispers hoarsely, defeated. That gets him a green-eyed gaze locking eyes with his. A wolf-hungry smile spreads on the monsters mouth as he leans forward and draws his tongue along Cas' bottom lip. Sharp pain flares as the mocking tongue hits a cut in the vulnerable flesh.  “Oh Angel, I’m gonna kill you. But I’m going to have some fun with you first. After all, you’ve wanted my cock for years. Be happy, I’m finally going to give you what you want.” And with that horrifying proclamation, rough hands grasp the waistband of his pants and rip them open and down his legs with stunning violence.
> 
> The angel can’t stop the agonized cry that is torn from his throat as the demon reaches down and shifts his tatterd pants out of the way and exposes his cock. The member is flaccid after his spell of unconsciousness and each rough stroke has Cas fighting back the urge to be sick. Biting kisses are being trailed along the side of his jaw and down his neck as Dean uses his free hand to brace himself. The demon grunts, rutting his rock-hard erection still trapped in his pants against Cas’ hip. A hissing whisper sounds in the angels ear, “Come on baby. Get hard for me. I want to see this cock I’ve dreamed about wanting me.”
> 
> Cas drops his gaze, trying to fight back the tears that are threatening to fall from his eyes. What should have been an act done in love was being used as torture. He throws his head back on the pillow as the movement of the hand on his dick speeds up and he feels a shiver run through his lower stomach as heat begins to gather between his legs. The angel tries to twist his hips away but it’s no use. With the handcuffs on and his power blocked, he’s helpless against the strength of the demon. The baby in a trench coat Dean had once called him. He chokes on the sick feeling in his head, the pain of the abuse, even as he’s helpless to deny the lust centered in his swelling cock. He knows it’s just his body responding to stimuli but he feels filthy and tainted by the fact he’s enjoying the violating touch. 
> 
> Dean laughs, deep and dirty, as he drops his hand, leaving Cas’ dick bobbing in the air. With a swift movement, he’s off the bed and rapidly stripping off his clothes. The angel doesn’t want to look but he can’t help watching as the body he’d fantasied about is revealed layer by layer. Dean isn’t chisled like his brother but his arms are thick with strength and his chest is firm and toned, with just a smattering of hair. The demon pauses with a grin as he removes his pants and underwear tantalizingly slow. His erection is revealed inch by inch, the member long and thick, the head engorged and thick with blood. Pre-cum glistens on the tip as the demon kicks off his pants off his strong legs and tosses them to the side.
> 
> Dean takes a few steps forward but stops beside the bed, touching the body laying trapped there with only his intense gaze. His eyes rake Cas’ form and causes a shiver of fear, tinted with desire, to course from the angels head to his feet. “I like the way you look Angel, tied up and helpless, your beautiful cock hard.  That delicious body stained with your own blood. Mmm hmm…..my own personal fantasy.” As he’s growling out the words, the demons right hand moves to his own cock, jerking it with quick, rough movements. He licks lips, wetting the blood dried there anew as his looks at Cas’ mouth. “How about opening up for me Angel? Getting a taste of this cock before I fuck that sweet little ass of yours.”
> 
> A rush of hatred fires through Cas’ blood as he bares his teeth in a snarl. “Try it and I’ll bite it off you fucking bastard!” He braces for the blow he’s sure is going to come. Maybe if he can piss the monster off enough, he’ll kill him. To his surprise, the other man just laughs sardonically and gets back on to the bed, kneeling between the angels open thighs. “Fine,” Dean snorts, “be that way.” Watching Cas intently he licks his pointer finger and inserts it in his mouth, sucking on it strongly before lowering the appendage to the puckered hole of the man beneath him.
> 
> Now, Cas begins to struggle in earnest as he feels the finger nudging at him. His breath starts coming in panting breaths and he realizes he’s whispering prayers under his breath. Prayers that go unanswered as Dean forces his finger inside the angels ass. Cas cries out as the demon wastes no time forcing a second finger inside him, causing burning pain to radiate from the abuse. The movements are swift and vicious as the monster kneeling on the bed fucks him with his fingers, making scissoring movements to push him open and loosen his muscles for the coming rape.
> 
> The pain and violation have him writhing on the bed, but he can’t escape, can’t really move, can’t stop this. His mind spirals down as every muscle in his abused body cries out, the sharpest agony concentrated in the opening between his legs. The demon above him is panting, the green eyes fairly glowing with lust. Hot drops of pre-cum drop onto his stomach from the cock of the man defiling him. The hurt ripping through him is making his own dick soften until he feels fingers hit a new place inside him. Amidst the pain, pleasure streaks through his body, making him grunt and moan each time the fingers rub over that sweet spot. A growling voice whispers, “Ah, there’s the spot baby. You like that?”
> 
> Cas curses him in every language he knows as the demon simply laughs before withdrawing his fingers. The angel collapses back onto the bed, panting, exhausted, hopeless, pained and horribly aroused. But the worst is still to come. Dean leans over and braces one hand on the bed beside Cas’ shoulders while he uses the other to position the head of his cock at the edge of the angels hole.
> 
> The angel tries to sink into the bed, but it’s no use. He feels his body trembling uncontrollably and hates himself as he begs helplessly one final time, “Please Dean.” A sob chokes him. “I know you’re still in there. Please don’t do this.” The demon pauses and looks up from preparing to push himself inside Cas. 
> 
> Suddenly, the expression on the other mans face goes soft, the green eyes alive and shining with love as he gazes down at the man beneath him. Cas is stunned into silence as Dean tilts his head to the side. He lowers his face to within a bare inch of the angels lips. Their hot breath mingles. The hunters nose bumps against his cheek and he whispers in a loving and soft voice, “Do you love me Cas?” As he pulls back, the green eyes seem to look directly inside the angel, all the way to his trapped Grace. The expression on the hunters face is just like that of the man that Cas knows but the expression of love is one he never thought he’d see pointed in his direction. The angel feels a stirring of hope in his gut and he starts shivering for a different reason. “Do you Cas?” Dean asks again. He reaches up with his free and his expression seems to contort in pain as he gently touches the wounds on the angels neck before meeting his eyes again.
> 
> It never occurs to Cas to say anything but the truth. Even after all that had just happened he was losing himself in the gaze of the man he loves. He feels a hot tear slide its way down his cheek. The man above him brushes it away with a loving caress. “Yes Dean.” A shaky smile trembles on the lips of the man leaning over him. Dean moves closer to him again and opens his mouth as Cas raises his head to meet him.  _Did something change? Was the power of the blood finally affecting him?_ Gazing into the loving expression of the man above him, the angel dares to allow himself to feel a sliver of hope.
> 
> A foolish mistake. His last mistake.
> 
> From one instant to the next, the soft green eyes transform into ebony and the beloved human face twists into a demonic snarl as Cas feels the hardened cock between his legs shoving into him with one brutal thrust. He feels himself rip, tear, and his scream of physical and emotional agony echoes out over the sound of malevolent laughter. The demon bottoms out with one push, his balls slapping into the angels ass with a violent slap of flesh on flesh. Dean begins to move immediately, slamming, brutal, excruciating thrusts that seems almost to rupture the angels insides.
> 
> Cas is crying freely as he feels like a darkness is seeping into him from all sides, smothering his light. The only sounds in the room are the sharp sound of wet flesh on flesh, the deep grunts of the demon raping his body, and the broken, almost inaudible whimpers that are being torn from his throat. He goes limp onto the bed beneath him as some part of him dies. He doesn’t know where the physical pain ends and mental torment begins. He’s one raw nerve as he prays silently to die.
> 
> Dean is moving more smoothly into his body as Cas’ blood and the demons precum mix to make the hole slick and thrusting easier. The horrible, brutal jack hammering doesn’t stop, doesn’t ease, and he loses all track of time as he is violated over and over. He can hear the demon laughing at him, feel occasional blows raining down on his face and chest, breaking bone, but it’s all far away. Even the pain seems to recede slightly as his mind sinks down into a dark hole inside his self. He tries to at least touch his Grace, but it’s out of reach, held down by the magic of his bindings
> 
> Minutes, hours, days, he doesn’t know how long goes by, but he feels Deans hand gripping his face and shaking him, calling his name. He opens dead eyes to look up into the black gaze of the monster smiling down at him. The thrusts are still happening but the hips fucking into him are starting to lose their rhythm as the man between his legs leans forward and whispers in his ear, “Just so you know, I could never love something as weak and pathetic as you.” He feels teeth bite into his throat and a brutal thrust, worse than all the others, slams into his body as the monster buries himself deep.

Deans sits back and his growling voice screams, “Look at me.” Cas turns his head listlessly and lets his eyes focus. He feels the cock inside him begin twitching as the demon cums, a roar pouring from his open mouth. His hot seed spills inside the angels broken body, mingling with the warm blood staining the sheets below the two of them. The face above him is one he doesn’t know, doesn’t want to know. As he gazes at the man he thought he loved, he wishes he’d never saved Dean Winchester.

It’s the last thought he has as the First Blade is slammed down into his chest.

Then he knows nothing, ever again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm considering writing an epilogue from Deans POV.
> 
> Thoughts?


	3. Demons Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deans POV as Cas dies and slightly beyond.

Deans body shakes and he roars his pleasure to the empty heavens as he comes. He feels the power behind the strike as the First Blade decimates flesh, humbles bone, and rips into the heart of the man laying ruined beneath him. As the ancient weapon connects, the deadened eyes looking up at him light up blue like the brightest solar flare as the angels stolen Grace pours outward. The body beneath him shudders in the throws of death. The dying power rips into the demons body wherever he’s connected with his victim, centered in his twitching cock that’s still pouring hot seed into the violated hole he’s buried so deeply inside. The strength of the perishing Grace intensifies his climax, causing pleasure so intense it crosses the line to pain as his vision whites out from the force of the best orgasm he’s ever had.

When he slowly comes back to himself, he opens eyes still glazed by the mark of his demonic power and gazes downward. His right hand is still gripping the blade sunk to the hilt inside the angels chest. Cas’ face is turned to the side, the eyes closed. He could almost be sleeping if you focused on nothing but the shut eyes and closed mouth. Dean lets his eyes roam over the rest of the body, a deep satisfaction settling into his bones as tiny aftershocks cause his still buried cock to twitch slightly. The angels once strong form is broken and blooded, rivulets running down from bite marks on his neck and multiple incisions from the demon blade. The tan skin, slowly going pale in death, is littered with marks of various sizes that range from bright red to bluish purple bruises. Cas’ cock had gone soft during the vicious rutting, but the demon didn’t care. All he’d wanted was to see the angels dick get hard one time, feel it twitch and heat in his fist. When Dean had been human he had spent plenty of nights with his dick in his hand, quietly jacking himself off so as not to wake Sam, dreaming about the angels erection. He’d wanted to live out the fantasy

He shifts his body back and gives a soft groan as his softening erection slips from the angels torn hole. His cock, balls, thighs, and even his stomach are slick with gore. Semen and blood mix together between the legs of the lifeless body still bound to the bed. Dean pulls the First Blade free of the empty vessel with a wet, sucking sound that echoes through the room. He wipes it off on the clean edge of the sheets above the dead angel before getting to his feet, not even sparing a second look at the man he had loved when human. The man he had just violently tortured, raped, and murdered in his own bed.

He hadn’t lied to Cas. He’d loved, wanted, needed the angel in his life as a human. As a demon, fucking another angel to death was now officially on his to-do list.

As he looks in the mirror and scratches lightly at a spot of dried blood on his eyelid, he idly wonders if he should have kept the other man alive. The first thrust that had ripped open the angels puckered hole was more satisfying than any murder he’d ever committed. The destroyed, broken whimpers of despair that had torn from Cas’ throat as the demon fucked into him was the sweetest music to Deans ears. Watching the light of love, of life, die in the blue eyes beneath him had almost made him come, but he’d held back. He’d wanted to prolong the pain, the torture, the feel of hot blood hitting him as each thrust ripped the angel apart. The sex had been better than he’d ever envisioned with Cas, and he had a vivid imagination. He would have loved a repeat.

However, Cas could cause him no end of trouble. Better the angel was dead.

He should be able to find another angel easy enough once he had the time. They were all grounded on earth now. He could easily see them becoming his favorite toys. A human would have died too quickly with the abuse he dealt out. Plus, the blinding pleasure of a Grace ripping apart at the moment of orgasm was something he could easily become addicted to.

First things first however.

He hesitates, contemplating taking a shower, before he just shrugs and starts pulling his clothes on. For what he has planned next, the horror streaked across his body will make a great conversation starter. Besides, he likes the smell of blood and sex intermingled on his skin. As he pulls on his shirt, he studies himself in the mirror. The hair over his forehead is stiff and sticking up from the blood that he’d accidently put there, raking his hands through his hair in the throes of passion. Dots and thin streaks of red decorate his face, neck and left hand. His right is almost entirely encased in grisly glove of blackish red, small flakes falling to the floor as he flexes his fingers. He blinks once and tucks his power away, his green eyes appearing in his face and sparkling with the relaxed smile coming across his handsome features.

Once clothed, he slips the First Blade back under his coat and leaves the room without a backwards glance. As he moves down the hallway he comes across the crumpled body of his brother. Without even glancing at the corpse, he scoops up the forgotten angel blade without breaking stride and continues towards the front door and the Impala.

He feels free, light, elated. As much as a demon can feel joy anyway. For the first time since he turned, he doesn’t have any incumbrances weighing on his mind. His pain in the ass little brother and the angel who had tormented his emotions, are dead. There’s nothing holding him back from doing anything he wants to do, when he wants to do it.

Save one thing.

As he steps forward into the darkened night outside the bunker, he pulls his phone free of the pocket of his jacket. The contact he wants is right at the top and a cruel smile curls his lips as he hits send. The phone rings once, twice, before a voice says his name. Dean can practically taste the fear in the tone that the person on the other end is trying to hide. The demons fist tightens around the angel blade as his voice becomes a horrible purr.

“Crowley. We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit. Due to a suggestion from my dear Bere on FB and Unknoanw's comment, I'm writing at least two more chapters. 
> 
> First, Dean faces down with Crowley


	4. Coming for the Throne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King of Hell

Crowley was lounging in his ornate chair in the center of the throne room, his whiskered chin propped in his palm and a look of perpetual boredom on his face. His dark eyes were on the demon in front of him but he wasn’t seeing the sniveling little wanker currently droning on about his supposed change of heart and his new allegiance to the current King of Hell. Of which The Demon King did not care. Traitors and mutineers, the lot of them. His minds eye was focused on his current flannel-clad pain in his ass.

Dean Winchester.

He had set up a perfect sting to get the hunter-turned-Prince-of-Hell out of his way and deliver him into the loving arms of his Gigantor brother. He couldn’t allow a threat like the one of a hunter-turned-demon running loose. Not only did it make him look weak since Dean had……. broken off their time together, it was bad if he wanted to keep his skin attached to his body. 

Deanmon was too dangerous to be allowed to roam the world uncontrolled with his propensity of using the First Blade at the slightest annoyance. The bastard needed to be collared. In fact, the Kings delicate ass depended on it. Moose had assured him that he had the cure ready to turn Dean back into his usual human ball of self-loathing and emotional constipation. Crowley had experienced the cure personally and knew its power. He still held on to the resentment.

But Moose was worried. Although that was a primary aspect of his personality so Crowley usually ignored it, this time, he was worried as well.

The cure was still largely experimental and had never been tried on one such as what the older Winchester had become. There was no guarantee that it would work, or even if it did, that the hunter would live to tell the tale. The King didn’t necessarily want the boys dead. _Some of the time,_ he acknowledges, if only to himself. Regardless, it would be better for all involved that if Dean couldn’t be cured, he’d end up a corpse. The kind that didn’t come back.

Although there were problems with making sure that happened.

Crowely just hoped the mop-headed baby brother would have the stomach for it. Not that he was trusting his existence to that. He hadn’t gotten to be King without having contingency plans.

That was exactly why he’d kept an eye on Castiel. When he got the report that the angel was powering down and on the verge of death, he'd made his move.  In his unlikely roll as savior, he’d appeared and killed the other angel he just _might_ have tipped off to the whereabouts of Feather brain and his brunette companion. Crowley had fed the dying man the Grace of his kill and told him to get his ass to the bunker, tout suite. The wayward angel, for all his too human sentimentality, could also be very practical. He knew what the Mark of Cain could, and would, do to his boyfriend. He would do what needed to be done. Crowley was counting on it.

And if he didn’t…….

Geralds droning voice calling his name brings him back from his thoughts. He blinks once and shifts his bored gaze over to his currently favored minion. He raises one dark eyebrow in a questioning expression that silently communicates his annoyance. The demon, that’s currently clad in an older vessel, steps forward and bows deeply before straightening with a properly respectful expression on his face. With a raised eyebrow and a slight tilt of his head, he signals that the current prisoner was done. The King realizes the nasally, droning voice has fallen mercifully silent. Crowley doesn’t even bother to respond. He simply raises the free hand from his lap and snaps his fingers, the browbeaten demon bursting into a cloud of thick, black smoke.

He uses his hand to lazily wave away the cloying dust as the next scheming traitor is brought forward between two hulking prison guards. Crowley doesn’t bother listening to her excuses and goes back to his thoughts. 

Even if The-Little-Angel-That-Could plus Winchester Jumbo size were successful, and the hunter lived through it, there remained the small problem with Dean still having the Mark. Cain had fought the pull for centuries. Crowley didn't underestimate the older hunter. He may be able to fight it even longer out of pigheaded stubbornness. However, all roads led to the same. 

Eventually, he would give in.

Eventually, he would turn. Again

Left unchecked, he could burn the world.

The bigger problem had to be solved. The Mark of Cain had to removed and Crowley was of a kill two birds with one stone type mentality. He’d had his brightest demons researching the issue ever since Dean had stabbed him in the back and he’d decided to turn him over. And dear, little, whimpering, desperate Sammy had given him the exact thing they might need to solve their mutual difficulties. When he’d called the younger Winchester back and set up the actual meet point, as well as the best way to muzzle the demon hunter, Deans baby brother had made a startling suggestion.

In his research, he’d come across a reference to the Book of the Dead. Crowley had scoffed at first. The book was a legend. A myth. A fairytale to get all the evil things in the world hot and bothered. It hadn’t been rumored to have even been seen for a millennia. Most believed it never existed in the first place. But the over muscled bookworm thought he had a clue as to how it could be found. The hunters lore supposedly made references that the Book not only held the clue to how the curse of the Mark worked, but its undoing. Even more, the lore gave spell ingredients to track the book if you had the right focus of power, but the lore didn’t know what that was.

Crowleys nether regions had quivered with that statement. Since he’d been crowned King of the Crossoads and served as Lilliths lover and second in command, he’d had a penchant for collecting ancient texts and relicts. Obscure things. Rare volumes. Anything he might be able to use in the future, and he’d handed out deals in exchange. He had an ancient text that alluded to the right focus of power that was needed to track the book, just not the spell.

They just had one, miniscule problem.

According to Crowleys volume, they needed the Mark to track the book. The current bearer of the Mark wasn’t going to be amendable to helping when he could run around like a drunken bull in a china shop. Not till he was human again anyway. Of course, The King hadn’t shared his knowledge with his reluctant partner in crime. At least, not yet. He’d needed Bullwinkle focused on the problem at hand, not gallavanting off on what could be a wild goose chase. The cure was their current best bet. 

So, they’re back to step one. Get Dean his precious humanity back. Crowley glances at the clock above the head of the current demon watching him to see if his performance was convincing. Crowley simply snaps his fingers and sets the demon afire as he notices the time. Piercing screams and the scent of burning flesh sear through the room as the King frowns. The boy and the angel had had the demon for quite a while. They should be done by now. Sam said he would call with the results, no matter how the chips fell.

The screams from the dead demon cut off abruptly as the charred corpse falls face down at his feet. With a nod he indicates to his guard to cart the crumbling pile of bones from his chamber. When Gerald looks to Crowley for approval to bring in the next disciple of Abbadon, The King holds up one finger in an indication to wait. 

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he clicks on the contact that he's looking for and places the phone to his ear as "MOOSE" flashes across the screen. The purring dials sound once, twice, three, four and finally a fifth time before connecting to voicemail. Crowley tries again immediately with the same results. When that doesn't work, he calls the Angel whose phone goes directly to voicemail. 

Disconnecting the call without leaving a message, Crowley places the phone on his leg as apprehension crawls through him like cold sludge. Perhaps he should pop into the bunker to see how things are going....

The King starts as his phone shrills out a sharp tone. He lifts the piece of plastic and metal from his leg with a flash of annoyance. His pique is in direct response to his level of worry since his calls went unanswered a moment ago. You ignore The King Of Hell at your own peril. _I'll teach that little...._.Expecting to see Sam calling back, he starts again as he sees the name on the caller ID. The words "NOT MOOSE" flash brightly on the screen and Crowley can’t stop the internal chill of fear that shudders through his meat suit.

Dean. 

He picks up between the second and third ring, his voice saying the name of the hunter in what he hopes is a sardonic tone but even he can hear the edge of anxiety that colors the word. The voice on the other end of the line comes through dark, growling, and clear with threat. “Crowley. We need to talk.”

Something is wrong. Something has gone terribly, horribly wrong.

 "We do?”, Crowley remarks back with fake astonishment as he signals for Gerald to clear the room. His second starts ushering various demons from the cavernous space. Crowley gets to his feet as tension runs through his body. His dark eyes are pointed towards the doorway where demons are streaming out, but he’s not seeing it. He’s seeing Dean Winchesters face with black eyes and a blood drenched weapon in his fist. The voice on the other end growls back “Oh yes, we do.” The King hears a distant squeaking groan over the speaker. He’d know that sound anywhere and can practically smell the scent of leather and gasoline. The demon-hunter is somewhere with the Impala. He has time, he’s just not sure how much.

“I figured you’d be a little busy emoting with your precious brother. Give him a kiss for me.” Crowley is stalling for time. _Dean is still a sodding demon._ He flicks his free hand and slams the doors to his chamber shut as the last demon exits. Quickly, he moves over to his personal cabinets and unlocks them with a spelled key buried in the inner jacket of his coat. There. At the back of the middle cabinet is the small book he’s looking for. He tucks it into another pocket close to his breast before locking the cabinet back and turning back towards the middle of the room.

On the other end of the line he hears the growl of Deans pet vehicle come to life. “Well I could do that for you Crowley, but I’m not into necrophilia.” Crowley stumbles to a stop, almost tripping over his own feet as his brain goes into a nosedive. “Or maybe I am now. Who knows? But I have had a very productive evening. How has yours been? Plenty of subjects kissing that tight little ass of yours?” The King of Hells heart is pounding while his face melts into a cold mask that matches the sudden chill in his gut.

“Where is Sam, Dean?” Crowleys voice is as flat as the light in his eyes. The time for games is done and he needs to know exactly what he’s dealing with. The laugh that echoes over the phone is like the snarl of a hellhound with a fresh kill, vicious and deeply satisfied. “Oh don’t worry _buddy,_ little Sammy won’t be bothering you anymore. Neither will my pet angel. Now, the only thing you have to worry about is me.” The Kings heart almost stops in his chest. Dean couldn’t be serious. He was saying that he’d destroyed both his own brother and Castiel. The manky bastard had to be fucking with him, trying to throw him off.

But if he wasn’t…….

Crowleys voice becomes its own growl, fired by rage, as his thick fingers curl into a fist., “I’ve warded this place against the Mark and your precious Blade. You’ll never make it through the doors you fucking prat!” And he had, right after Dean went rogue. He’d thought of the eventuality that the Prince of Hell would try to come for him. It had taken some very old and very powerful magic, a huge favor to a Prince in Israel for a valuable bauble, and a few lives of his own demons, but his headquarters couldn’t be penetrated by anyone wearing the Mark of Cain.

Dean snorts, sounding almost like his old self. “I’m not stupid Crowley. I know you. You don’t think I learned even more during our lovely honeymoon?” His voice suddenly drops to a hissing croon. “I know your weaknesses _King of Hell._ Enjoy the crown while you have it.” With that, the call drops and silence fills the room with the exception of the slightly harsh breathing coming from the demon standing alone in the candle lit room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok...maybe I lied about the two chapters. It's shaping up for two more after this one. 
> 
> This was not meant to expanded upon but I got inspired.


	5. Chalk outline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley goes to the bunker

Dean disconnects the call and casually tosses his phone onto the passenger seat beside the angel blade laying there, glistening silver in the light from the almost full moon illuminating the interior of the car. The purring of the engine lightly vibrates the seat as he drums his stained fingertips along the worn steering wheel. The interior of the car was still littered with soda cans, empty coffee cups, fast food containers, and dirt tracked onto the worn floorboard. Apparently, Sammy hadn’t had time to clean it out before his timely demise.

Not that it mattered.

The fact that Crowley warded his headquarters  _did_  matter. It was a hitch in Deans plans. Definitely annoying. Semi-problematic but not insurmountable. In fact, it was exactly the kind of chickenshit move that Dean expected from him. The upside was, the bastard King couldn’t ward all of Hell and he could only stay cooped up in his stronghold for so long. It’s not like the demon had full control of his domain anyway. He had observed all the ways Crowleys followers undermined and challenged their supposed master on a daily basis. The Ex-King of the Crossroads, turned reluctant ruler of Hell, could so easily be toppled if a true threat ever emerged to his power and position. After all, Abbadon had almost taken the crown, and fairly easily to boot. Dean had been the one to put an end to that red-headed beast because she was more trouble than the current one. The devil-you-know, and all that.

He sits back in the seat and catches a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror, inky blackness obscuring his eyes. One way or another, the First Blade would taste the Kings blood. As he shifts the car into drive, Dean promises he'll make sure of it.

 

Crowley stood in the darkness outside the open door to the too silent bunker. 

He'd already had his demons check the place out thoroughly. Sent in a few low level, sniveling little wankers in case Dean was lying in wait for him. Subjects he wouldn't miss if they fed the First Blade with their blood. There was no use sending in his warriors. He wasn't sure any of them could stand against the hunter at this point and he may need them later, when he and the Prince of Hell truly went to war.

The rooms beyond were devoid of life, but not empty.

He'd been briefed about what had been found. Brutality. Blood. Decimation. The destruction of all that remained of Dean Winchesters humanity. The stomach churning descriptions from his demons made something deep inside Crowley began to burn. As they’d bowed and scraped, speaking in low voices and harsh whispers, they’d painted a picture that chilled even him with its carnage. He could have had them, gather what he needed, dispose of the bodies, and burn the place to the ground since that suited his mood. But he didn’t.

The King needed to see it for himself. 

Crowley wore a cold, blank expression. The same cold seeped from his heart and slithered through his veins like an arctic wind. His hands were hanging by his sides, his right fist clutched around a carefully procured angel blade. The only indication of his apprehension was the whiteness of his knuckles around the ancient weapon. 

As he moves with a measured step through the doorway and down the stairs, his only accompaniment is the hollow echo of his footsteps on metal. All is still. Haunted. Heavy with the weight of foreboding. The rooms, once brought to life by two men and their fallen angel, are now a tomb to the last remaining Men of Letters.

He comes upon Sams body right where his demons said it would be. The younger Winchester had always been a man to contend with. Whether he was fueled by rage or fired with determination, he'd been like a huge force. Overshadowing most of the pathetic humans around him by his sheer size, intelligence, and strength of will. 

The body on the floor was going cold. The closed eyelids slightly sunken as the orbs beneath them collapsed in death. Without the soul to accompany it, the large, well-muscled body looked smaller. Less formidable. The blood that had come from the gruesome wound in his skull had turned brown as it dried, blending into the hunters own dark locks. A hammer still lay near the body. Obviously the murder weapon. The scent of recent death hung in the air like a pall.

Crowley stood silently as he stared down at the dead hunter. War made for strange bed fellows. The King Of Hell and the Winchesters had gone from enemy, to ally, to enemy, to ally, so many times it made him dizzy to think about. His recent alliance with the younger brother had been in the best interest of both parties, even if each came to the table with different reasonings for their partnership. 

There were times, many times, where Crowley had wanted both boys dead and burning in his pits. They'd foiled him again and again. Nearly destroyed the sodding world through their stupid actions and careless disregard for consequences to save each other. Just as the demon knew, in a place he almost never let see the light of day, that they'd saved him. Even when he was at his most enraged, foaming at that mouth for a taste of their blood, he'd never imagined it would come to this. 

No, The King of Hell had never wanted this. 

With a sigh that holds equal parts regret and sadness, Crowley bends down to place a gentle hand on the cold forehead of Sam Winchester. "Goodbye Moose." With a thought, he pours his power into the body laying at his feet. Red hot, the demonic energy roars through the limp form with all the fire of the demons growing anger, reducing it to so much ash in a matter of seconds. The demons own version of a hunters funeral. It was the least he could do. 

For a moment, the Demon King simply stays on his knees with his head bowed and his eyes closed. Rage and grief vie for dominance as he struggles to bring his thoughts back under the control he prides himself on. The area beneath his hand rests on nothing but air now. He curls his thick fingers into a fist as he opens his eyes. With a deep breath, the demon gets to his feet and vanishes the mess on the floor. The ash disappears from the cold concerete, leaving behind just a faint trace of a stain where the hunter once lay. Without a backwards glance, the demon is moving on. 

He can smell the blood as he turns down the hallway towards the room with the open door. Deans room in the bunker. Sickly, yellow light is barely enough to illuminate a few inches into the open area. For just a few seconds, his feet hesitate, but it’s a minor thing. No one watching him would have noticed anything except a slight slowing of his pace as he forces himself to step through the doorway looming like a gate to a nightmare.

In all the horrible things he’d seen, as well as done in his time, this definitely ranks up there in his top experiences. The illumination in the room isn’t much brighter than it was in the hallway but it’s more than enough to show him the expanse of the horror spread eagle on the bloodstained bed. If he didn’t already know it was Castiel, he wasn’t sure he would have recognized him at first.

Crowley moves a few steps closer, his gaze drawn unerringly to the torn and broken body laid out on display. The angel was naked from the calves all the way to his neck, the shirt-tie combo and ever-present trench coat simply pushed off to the side and still hanging on his bound arms. His pants were in tatters and one shoe had fallen off at some point in the assault to lay upside down at the bottom of the bed. Drops of blood stained the pillows by the dead mans head from the cuts in his wrists due to the too tight Enochian handcuffs. 

Not that that was surprising. There was blood everywhere.

The smell of sex still hung in the air, a twinge of acrid scent beneath the cloying stench of decaying blood and flesh from the empty vessel. It was easy to see the killing blow. Castiels chest was sunken in death. The hole was a crater surrounded by torn skin. A few ribs, mostly broken, were visable through the wound. 

Crowley recognized a killing blow caused by the First Blade. 

The angels body had been bruised and cut. Desecrated. His right elbow hung at an odd angle, obviously dislocated. The bite marks littering his skin were all the more vicious looking due to the fact they were made by obviously human teeth. One in the flesh of his shoulder was deep enough to expose muscle. 

Castiels naked thighs and hips were dark with lurid bruises. One mark, mottled purple and red, was a perfect imprint of Deans right hand branded into the angels hipbone. His left thigh had a small bit of bone protruding through the skin. Crowley was well taught in the art of torture. He knew the force it would have taken to break a thigh bone in that manner. Blood, mixed with semen, was pooled in a thick puddle below the body. 

As for what had been done to the only entrance for the demon between the angels legs.....

He could only imagine the suffering the angel had endured before death was granted to him. Crowley turns away and studied the rest of the room with a cold gaze.  Drops of blood littered the floor in small spots from the bed all the way to the dresser. Since there was no trail leading out the door, he assumed Dean had failed to clean up after himself. It would be easy enough to smell him coming then. 

The King of Hell turns back to the figure laying prone on the bed. "Ah Castiel. Angel of Thursday. It really never was your day, was it?" With a determined step and a heavy heart, the demon moves forward and places his hand on the angel in the same way he had done for the younger hunter. As his power flows outward to burn the vessel he whispers, "He'll pay for this. I swear it."

The heat and fire flows through flesh, disintegrates bone, and reduces the broken body and the blood-stained mattress beneath it to smoking ash. With a thought, the mess is gone and Crowley is once again alone. He had taken a careful step not to burn the handcuffs and bends over to pick them up, placing the item in the pocket of his coat. The demon would have use of them later. 

With his rage on a low boil, he makes his way to the room that had belonged to Sam. What he came for was right where his demons said it would be. He picks up the Men of Letters ledger and tucks it away into an inner pocket of his coat. He doesn’t bother to glance around the room or look through any personal effects before he leaves. There are more urgent matters to attend to as he makes one final stop in the Winchesters dungeon.

Errands accomplished, Crowley heads back to the door of the bunker. He passes the spot where Sam once lay with no hesitation in his gliding stride. As he makes his way into the open entryway, he stops for just a moment to glance around at the empty and darkened room. He turns back to look at hallway as he gives a sharp whistle in the air, followed by a short incantation. Out of the darkness, the beast steps through like something made of a nightmare.

The hound is nearly five and a half feet tall at the shoulder. The black fur is so dark that it seems to suck the meager light from the room as the beast moves into view. She’s a beautiful specimen, bred from Lucifers Alpha Bitch Ramsey. Although not his favorite due to her stupidity, she is one of the biggest and most deadly. The site of her brings a small smile to The King of Hells lips as she raises her glowing red eyes and bares sharpened fangs in a growl of greeting. With a clucking of his tongue, he holds out his hand as the hellhound moves forward and nudges her formidable head against his fingers. He carefully runs his hands along the bone-like spurs dotting her back before hooking a hand under her huge jaw and giving her a scratch. “Stay here. Guard. Kill anything that enters that door. If the Prince of Hell comes back, rip him to shreds.” If Dean showed back up, Crowley intended to deliver him a surprise. As a demon, the older Winchester would be able to see her and she would ultimately be no match for him, but the Demon King wanted to make sure the other man didn’t have an easy time returning.

If he even did.

As he moves up the steps, he feels the beast fade back in the shadows. She will rest, half in this world and half in the realm of the dead until any interesting prey decide to enter what she’s been entrusted to guard. If they do, they’ll die. As the Demon King steps through the doorway, he locks the door with several Enochian symbols as well as his own power. That will keep out most.

Under the light of a mostly full moon, Crowley stands silently for a moment, breathing in the chill night air. His free hand raises and gently touches the book inside his pocket. With a thought, he moves himself back to the throne room in his stronghold. The expression on his face is one of calm consideration hiding his racing thoughts. With steady movements, he withdraws the book and lays it on a candlelit table where he’ll be able to prepare for the spell.

For just a second, his eyes close and he takes a deep, calming breath. The rage, grief, and even the fear, dancing around in the back of his brain are pushed back down and locked away where they belong. His course is set, all he has to do is get the right ingredients.

He has the key to exactly what he needs to take down Dean Winchester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided it was time to revisit Deanmon and Crowley and start their final steps in this story.


End file.
